"Golden Eighties" by Tova Gannana
A series of interconnected poems; part of our Mini Portraits of America: Day in the Life series
Save me a spot of Clearasil between bridges, Rivers upbeat we pass beers in the back Seats of leather and perfume like feathers Everyone is a Charlie after a pilsner Vote for the cutest caboose, cheese in a can Pasta in a box, books returned on the right Restaurants close because they’re closing on time A gate at the top of the stairs In an effort to remove all foreign objects Knives bras newspapers electric bills Those old socks we’ve lost, I’ll call you Jane & John Is it shaken or stirred, collared or brushed up against? It’s an addiction of smoking and sleeping in a stranger’s bed It’s newsprint on a white couch Take your oncologist to pour a Pepsi, free a dolphin Bourbon wants a cold glass and a turn with a melon I’m a red snapper on the way to a restaurant I’m an anatomy class without a skeleton
Jazz and cocktails, on every vacation, there’s someone like you. I’ll sing a tune, I’ll buy a ticket, I’ll say hello, I’m lonely too. Price of gas, taboo cats, breakfast wine, good luck because you’re beautiful, only last year, stifling those who strive, a song that follows a song, my kids have grown, so what, I want to be modern. There are cougars on the island, flies in the restaurants, rats in the back, tourists arrive by boats, the rains awaited have now begun, fires in the state run through the woods, a man wears a suit but takes off his tie. The room is half dark, half lit by a reading light, the porch is wet, there is no going outside tonight. The animals settle, stores shutter, painters sell piece by piece, romance is such, real estate is high, don’t ask, please, I’ve got an idea, press me, shake me down, make me confess.
The furnace speaks in French. The hotel lobby turns away guests. A man wants wine but has to be good. You see a film. You think you are understood. The park is for all, so is the library, the coffee shop, the bus station. Places to go. I won’t. Anymore. I have talents but are they translatable? Not a word. From my lips. I live on the top floor. The moon is always there, behind clouds, like the storefront selling whatever it is that they’ve always sold, the neighborhood has changed, but we are the same. Only a few blocks away. All the people are out on the street. Two women walk by. The playground is clear. The sky is transactional. Cars are impatient. A waitress in a restaurant checks her lipstick and her tips. She checks who is sitting at each table. Nothing sore. Until whatever is. Listen. Today is the day I walk out, change habits, turn around, put it down. Trains leave stations without all of their patients. Malls deserve to be empty except in the movies.
It’s time to clap for a waitress in a cafe Always In front Of the registers The cash It comes in quarters The kitchen plays the music For the day While the night gets decided by the rain Cher will play On the radio but not on a playlist The beaches heavy in sand and metal Will say How the menu is about to change A frequency of rips in fishnet tights Tonight I’ll wear the same thing that I wore last night If you’ll like a beer on tap I’ll list the breweries If you’ll behave with a fork and knife I’ll place your takeout in containers If you’ll clean your dishes with paper napkins I’ll sweep up after Whatever Of this life is left The day is an evening In the park Birds mellow while Binoculars are like liquor for some Take down the building and the bra Watch while we leave this hemisphere
Tova Gannana is a film curator and essayist.